


Burning Bright

by bookwormchocaholic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, F/M, Fahrenheit 451 inspired, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nothing is shown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: Belle French loves and collects books. Unfortunately for her the written word is forbidden.Original prompt: If Belle was living in the world of Fahrenheit 451?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has been forever and a day since I actually read Fahrenheit 451; I forgot the little details of it. But I remember the general premise. This verse is a combination of that, plus 1984, The Book Thief, and other things. Special thanks to the wonderful Nonny who submitted this; I’d love to know your identity so that I could gift this to you. This prompt snapped me out of my writer’s block. Not beta-ed, expect mistakes.

Belle cringed at the creak the hinges made as she opened the back door of the flower shop. She had hoped to sneak in without being noticed, but from the movement in the front of the shop, she knew that her father had heard her return home. Pushing through the entrance, she struggled with the bulky sack of the day’s provisions. She had spent two hours standing in line to receive her and her father’s rations. Meager though it was, she traded some of the coupons they did not need for other items. Bartering was the only way anyone could get enough to survive from day to day. The State allotted only a certain amount per citizen. No more, no less. There was no poverty, everyone was equal and had similar possessions.

Only the Statesmen received special privileges.

But that wasn’t even what weighed the bag down. It was the contraband buried underneath.

Her father sauntered in and bobbed his large head. “How did you make out?” Moe inquired, without so much as offering a pleasant greeting.

Belle scrunched her nose as the whiff of alcohol that burned her nostrils and made her eyes water. To have a drink now and then was one thing, but the way her father did it, it was sickening. He’d drink himself into a stupor and would end up useless for the remainder of the day. Or worse, violent.

“I found some ham and a ham bone. And beans. I also got bread, three apples, and some cheese.” She didn’t dare mention what else she had. Her father would never understand and though she was a fully-grown woman, he’d beat her within an inch of her life for risking their security.

Moe hiccupped and sniffed loudly. “I’ll be laying down. Call me when supper is ready.”

He shuffled out of the room and she listened to his heavy foot falls as he climbed up to their living quarters. Like most who had their own business, she and her father lived in the second story. They were lucky; they each had their own small rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A small, bleak existence, but at least they had a decent roof over their heads.

 _It could be worse._ Belle reminded herself. Those poor pathetic souls who were imprisoned had nothing. There was no hope for them. For whatever reason, they had gotten on the wrong side of the State and would be punished for the remainder of their days.

Belle set the sack on one of the counters where she often made the flower arrangements that she and her father sold. The common folk never bought flowers, how could they when they never had any money. It was the Statesmen who purchased bouquets for their wives and lovers, or they made orders if they wanted decorations for their galas. Their little shop provided her and her father enough capital for them to pay the mandatory taxes. In return, they managed a business, they had a place to live, ration coupons for food, and seven sets of clothing for each day of the week. Seven plain dresses, a couple cardigans, underthings, and one pair of sturdy shoes – that was all that she and any other woman was permitted. The State assured the public that was enough; after all you could only wear one set of clothes at a time.

 _Never mind that their closets are overflowing with finery._ Belle considered bitterly.

Opening the bag, she rummaged through and had her fingers on _it_ when she heard her father thudding back down the stairs. She hoped that he had not run out of drink again. Last time he hurled the empty bottle at her head, narrowly missing. He backhanded her and would have done worse if he hadn’t remembered a bottle that he stashed away under his bed.

Belle shoved everything back into the bag and turning back around, she schooled her features into placid expression.

Moe filled the doorway once more, his arms crossed, his jaw set. “Forgot to say, Gaston is coming over this evening. We’ll be finalizing the details of your marriage.” He grunted, “Be sure to cook enough for three.”

Belle nodded, holding her breath, willing herself to remain calm. There was no point in protesting the engagement or the fact that she didn’t even like Gaston. Under the State’s laws, as a woman, she had no rights or privileges. Her father had guardianship over her and then when she was married, her husband would be in control of her fate. She barely had a voice in her own home, forget having a voice in the world.

 _No one has a voice, let alone a woman._ The fairer sex was considered less than second-class citizens. It had been that way for as long as she could remember.

Only God knew what kind of husband Gaston would make. In all likelihood, he would be terrible. He made a terrible fiancé. He was loud and domineering, he liked to hunt, and was a member of the State.

“You’re lucky he’s willing to take you off my hands.” Moe grumbled, as if he could read her thoughts.

“Yes, father,” Belle nodded again, hating herself for agreeing with him.

At twenty-five, she was considered old to be married off, especially when most brides were wed barely out of the school room. Had her first fiancé not been eliminated by the State for his resistance activity and she deemed damaged goods because of her association, she would have married young too. Gaston had simply come by one evening, stated that he wanted her for a wife, and after some bartering, with her father believing that he had come out ahead of the deal, Moe agreed. Suddenly she was engaged. She had been sitting in the room the whole time and neither had asked her opinion. Gaston flipped a few coins on the kitchen table and Moe snatched them up and went off to celebrate at the pub.

Belle felt her stomach knot as she recalled how Gaston had backed her into a corner and took what he considered his. He strutted off as if he had done nothing wrong. She hated whenever Gaston visited. It would take weeks for the bruises to disappear. And Moe didn’t care, so as long as she didn’t bother him and he had plenty to drink. There was no alternative to marriage.

Moe coughed and blinked. His eyes were now glazed over, his expression was emotionless. Once more, he went back upstairs.

Belle sighed, dug through the bag and removed the forbidden item. _I’ll have to hurry._ Tucking it under the flap of her cardigan, she hurried downstairs to the basement.

A single flickering bulb lit the room. The dusty, filthy bowels of the house reminded her more of a dungeon, but it was the only sanctuary she had in the world. Not even her bedroom was as sacred. Not when Moe pilfered through her belongings to sell, or whenever Gaston called on her to visit.

Belle went to the closet next to the stairs, slipped inside, and closed the door. Black swam before her eyes, but she knew where she was going by touch alone. Having done this hundreds of times before, she felt for the wall and patted it until she found a box. Nudging the box aside, she felt a smile tug at her lips as she located the hole in the wall. She crawled through it and crept into the small crawl space beneath the stairs. Her father didn’t know about this hidden place. It was the only thing in the world that was truly hers.

No more than four feet in width and six feet in length, it was dark and there was dirt and there were insects and spiders, but none of that bothered her. She preferred it to the outside world.

Belle laid the contraband down and lit a candle, which provided her with a little light. While it was dangerous to be messing with fire, she reasoned that for a few minutes the risk was worth it.

She held the forbidden item closer to the flame.

_Jane Eyre._

This was the fifth book that she had found. She might not be able to read much tonight because of Gaston’s visit, but tomorrow she would wait until her father went to bed and sneak down around midnight to find out who Jane Eyre was. It was funny how she found this book. The State investigators had discovered a household with books hidden in their attic and to make an example of it, they carried boxes full of books and piled them into a mound in the street and then set them ablaze. This Jane Eyre must have dropped off, because she found it lying in a gutter.

Books were forbidden, as were newspapers, and writing of any sort. The State provided the people with State sanctioned entertainment and news via a large screen in each household. Their screen was in the kitchen. Print was dangerous. Print led to freedom of thought and fake news. Print led to writing and the State believed that people who wrote would cause trouble. Someone might write something against the government or its leader, something terrible and inflammatory. Those caught with books or newspapers or writings of any kind, they were exiled from their homes. Their homes were burned down and they were imprisoned.

The State reasoned that it was better that the public not know how to read and write. It was for the greater good. Everyone was safer that way. There was no dissention.

Belle chewed on her lower lip. Thanks to her mother, she knew how to do both.

Years ago, when her mother was alive, Mother used to regale her with stories of how children once went to school to learn how to read and write, and they were taught other subjects. They learned about other countries and mathematics, and women had their own careers. That was before the Reforms. According to her mother, corrupt leaders had come to power and when the leaders felt threatened by the people, they issued a series of Reforms. The State assumed control of everything; the rights of the people were dismantled, books were collected and burned, paper and pencils and ink were no longer available.

Before her mother died of cancer, she had given Belle Her Handsome Hero. It was a keepsake that had been passed down through the women in the family and hidden from all prying eyes. Not even Moe knew about it. The book was the story of Gideon, who went on adventures and slayed the dragon, and did what right and good. Her mother had taught her to read and write, and then told her about the crawl space under the basement stairs. Somehow her mother had known that she would need a sanctuary away from the world.

Belle’s eyes moistened and she blinked the tears away. _Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her._ She added her newest book to her modest collection and blew out the candle.

She crawled out of her hiding place, put the box back to cover the hole, and climbed out of the closet. While loathed to leave her little hiding place, her father would want his supper and Gaston would be soon over to visit her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Statesman shows up at Belle and Moe's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed. Also abuse and non-consensual sex is referenced, however, not shown.

Moe gave Gaston’s broad shoulder a manly slap. “I knew you could do it!” He shifted in his chair and faced Belle. “You’re lucky to have such a good fiancé.”

Belle had been stirring the remnants of her soup with her spoon, her throat too constricted to swallow another bite. Since Gaston arrived, she had been on edge throughout the whole meal. She hated him. It was as simple as that. Her mother has raised her to despise no one, but that was one lesson of her mother’s that didn’t stick. She hated Gaston. She hated his company, she hated having to sleep with him, and she hated that she would have to spend the rest of her miserable life keeping his house, warming his bed, and bearing his children.

 _Children._ Her eyes watered. She couldn’t fathom the thought of bringing a child into this wretched world. If it were a boy, it would turn out like Moe or Gaston, and if it were a girl, its fate would be as dark as hers. But that was a woman’s lot. To marry, stay home, bear children, and die. Perhaps that’s why she adored books so much. There was no set formula to them. They carried her off to different worlds, introduced her to amazing people, and the endings always differed.

She couldn’t wait until she could devour this newest book.

“Belle!” Moe smacked his open palm on the table. “Are you listening?”

Belle automatically flinched and found herself grateful that her father at least was not smacking her. She laid her spoon aside and shook her head. “Sorry, what was it?”

“Foolish girl. If your head wasn’t attached to your shoulders, it would be rolling about on the floor.” Moe huffed and gestured to Gaston. “Gaston was telling us about his new job.”

Belle felt Gaston’s leering gaze upon her and folded her arms over her chest. Yet another thing she hated about Gaston. The way he looked at her. “What is it?” She timidly lifted her chin to give him her full attention.

“I was enlisted as a firefighter.” He flashed her a smile, his incredibly white teeth blinding her. He lifted his arms and flexed his muscles. “The Statesman said that my physical stamina was a determining factor. Means more pay. We can marry sooner now.”

Gaston stuck his hand in his trouser pocket.

Belle gulped. She knew what was coming. He was about to flip a couple coins on the table. Moe would have his drinking money and make himself scarce for a few hours. Gaston would claim her as his once more and she would be sore for days after.

 _A firefighter._ Of all the jobs, for Gaston to be a firefighter made her situation a thousand times worse. Firefighters didn’t put out fires, as her mother had said they once did. They created fires. They were called in to burn the books and destroy the households of those who dared disobey the law to read the written word. Gaston would be destroying the very thing she loved most in the world. _How will I be able to hide my books from him?_ Gaston, though more brawn than brains, would pick up on all of the signs that she was hiding books.

His muscular arms were bulging beneath his long-sleeved shirt. Gaston had hurt her many times before and that was never in anger. God only knows what he would do to her if she got on his bad side. He would kill her, probably.

A sharp rap sounded on the front door on the first floor.

“Get the door.” Moe barked out the order and his eyes gleamed as Gaston tossed the coins on the table.

Belle fled the kitchen and scrambled downstairs. She didn’t know who could be visiting at this hour. They never had guests. Moe and Gaston were each other’s friends, and except for her books, she had none of her own. But whoever it was, she hoped that they would stay for the remainder of the evening.

She opened the door and froze in place.

It was a man wearing an expensive, custom-made three-piece suit and he was leaning upon a cane. He tilted his head, his longish grey-brown hair glinting in the street lights, his amber eyes flittering over her. He wasn’t ogling her the way Gaston did, yet she felt unnerved in his presence.

He’s someone important. Belle straightened her shoulders and though he wasn’t big, she felt small in comparison. “May I help you?” She asked, finding her voice.

“Miss French, I presume?” The man bowed his head briefly. “I am Gold. I’m a Statesman. I must speak to your father.”

Belle felt the blood drain from her face, but she fought the faintness, and leaned against the doorframe to remain upright. A visit from anyone involved in the government implied that a law had been broken. Or at the very least, that someone was out of favor with the government. An off-handed comment, the spreading of Fake News, a look, negative behavior… it could be anything.

However, Belle knew in her heart of hearts what it was. _The books._ Someone must have seen her pick up Jane Eyre and informed on her.

“May I come in, or shall I remain out here all night?” Gold smirked.

Belle backed away and retraced her steps upstairs. Gold was not far behind, his odd gate and click of his cane sending shivers down her spine. He had some sort of a limp, but she was too afraid to study his lame limb.

“Finally! It took you long enough. Gaston has been waiting for you.” Moe called from the kitchen, but his scolding words died on his tongue when Belle and Gold appeared in the kitchen door way. Moe’s large forehead puckered in confusion. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Gold. A Statesman.” Belle mumbled and pressed herself into one of the corners. It would only be a matter of seconds before they turned on her for hiding books. She would be lucky if Gaston didn’t set her on fire.

Mr. Gold swaggered forward and pinned – not her – but Moe down with his feral gaze. “Mr. French, the State has been keeping tabs on you. You neglected to pay your taxes.”

Belle’s frantic gaze swung to her father and watched as his round face redden. Everyone had to pay taxes, there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. They had enough earnings from the flower shop to cover this season’s taxes. Those who neglected to pay their taxes lost their livelihood and were imprisoned. They were never heard of again. And as her father’s daughter, since she had no rights, the State would assume guardianship of her. They would decide her future.

“Papa, what happened?” Belle blurted out. She never raised her voice to him, to anyone. But her fears overcame her and the voice she had been denied for so long came pouring out. “What have you done?”

Gaston nudged Moe. “I gave you money, for Belle. What did you do with it?”

Moe mumbled something, but Belle despite straining her ears, she couldn’t make out what it was.

Gold snorted. “As I have said, we have been keeping tabs on you, Mr. French. You have been making many, many trips to the pub.” His hands clasped his cane tightly, his thumb stroking the handle. “Since you have neglected to pay your taxes, you shall be transported to prison and your effects will become property of the government.”

Moe rose, his Adam’s apple pulsating. “Please, I’ll do anything. You can have anything you want.”

“Anything? I do love when they say that.” Gold grinned and swiveling on his good heel, he pointed to Belle. “Good. I’ll take her then.”

Belle felt all eyes on her. “Me?” She squeaked.

“You can’t, she’s mine! Her father promised me and I paid-” Gaston shot up and advanced towards her, but Gold raised his cane and with the base of it, he poked it into the brute’s chest.

“I need a caretaker for my rather large estate. In return, I will pay your taxes.” Gold taunted and nudged Gaston back into his chair. “It’s her, or no deal.”

Belle trembled as she lifted her eyes and studied each of the men. If she refused, she would either become property of the State, or Gaston would claim her as his. She didn’t know what would happen if she were under the State’s control, but at Gaston’s hands, she would die. He would extinguish what little fire she had burning inside of her soul.

But Gold, while she knew nothing of him, she supposed that she wouldn’t be any worse off with him. At the worst he would be violent like her father or force her to sleep with him, as Gaston did. Observing the short, wiry, enigmatic man, she was perplexed as to how someone such as Gold ended up as a Statesman. Throwing her lot in with his might place her in further danger, but at least she would be making her own choice.

“Belle, I forbid you to go with this bastard!” Gaston raised his hand, balling it into a fist. He wouldn’t dare physically harm a Statesman, or her father. That meant her hesitancy was stoking his violent side and if she stayed with him, he would take it out on her.

“No one decides my fate but me.” Belle hated how her voice wavered, but she was at least speaking up for herself for the first time in her life. Facing Gold, she nodded, “I will go with you.”

Belle waited a minute before moving out of the corner. She knew it was foolish to hope that her father might protest her being taken away. For years she had known that he didn’t care about her, that he only ever used to her as a bargaining chip. But still, there was a small part of her that hoped that he would speak up.

Her spirits sank when Moe nodded in agreement and remembering the coins on the table, he snatched them up before Gaston could reclaim them.

“Excellent.” Gold motioned for her to go ahead of him and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he rested his hand on the small of her back. He was merely ushering her along, but she wasn’t used to such fluttery touches.

Belle grabbed her coat off the peg by the door and struggled to get her shaking arms into the sleeves, until she felt Gold tugging on it and helping her into it.

Once more his hand was on the small of her back as they stepped out into the dark of the night. Her only regret was that she couldn’t have brought any of her books along with her.

 _I’ll never know what Jane Eyre is about._ Tears blurred her eyes as Belle fell in step beside Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/173896087629/burning-bright-chapter-2


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold takes Belle to his large estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite satisfied with the chapter. I had a heck of a time writing it. Hopefully it isn't too bad, apologies if it is.

Belle climbed out of the Cadillac’s passenger seat and closed the door. She stepped back and craning her neck, she took in the large, pink mansion, feeling in awe of it. Rather than a cold, harsh place where she had believed that all Statesmen lived, this house resembled more of a home. Stained glass windows, a wrap around porch, a white picket fence…Her mother had talked of how the regular folk used to live in what was once called “Victorian homes.” People once owned their own property and lived how they pleased, without the State meddling in their affairs. Such a concept seemed like a plot straight out of one of her books.

 _Freedom…did it ever truly exist?_ Belle pondered. For a brief moment, her fears dissolved and she thought it might not be too terrible to live in such a place. _It is pretty._ It would certainly be step up from living in a cramped apartment over a flower shop.

“You’re not going to stand there all day, are you?”

Belle snapped to attention and her cheeks warmed when she realized that Mr. Gold was observing her with his cool gaze. His unsmiling face didn’t betray any anger, but she knew better than to trust a man. Especially a man in his high position. There were all corrupt. Besides, she didn’t know what awaited her inside.

She dragged her feet as she followed Mr. Gold into his house. Marveling at the overwhelming beauties of the interior, a hushed gasp escaped her. Stately furniture, hundreds of antiques on shelves, a fireplace on the opposite wall. It wasn’t at all like the dark world she came from.

Mr. Gold cleared his throat and quirked his finger. He led her into a pristine kitchen, which contained every modern convenience imaginable. “Do you know how to make tea…?” He turned around and squinted in confusion. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Belle blinked her surprise. Between her father and Gaston, her name had been thrown around several times in his presence. How can he not remember? He didn’t seem to be dense.

“Belle.” She supplied and nodded. “Yes, I can make tea.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Gold motioned her towards the stove. “That is to be one of your duties. You will make the tea. I am very specific about my tea. You will also oversee the maid and cook’s work-”

“I…” Belle began and let the sentence hang. Usually, she never ventured to speak unless spoken to. She never questioned or offered her opinion. Ironically, she had spoken more in her short acquaintance with Mr. Gold than she had in all the weeks she had been engaged to Gaston.

“What? If you expect me to guess your thoughts, you will be sorely disappointed.” Mr. Gold held his cane, his grip tightening and loosening and tightening again on the handle. “So, speak.”

She gulped. “I thought I was to be your maid.”

Mr. Gold shook his head. His silvery mane glinted in the overhead lights, looking soft and full. “No. I have a maid; I have no need for another. What I require is someone to oversee their work, that it lives up to my specifications. I am a busy man, I can’t watch over their shoulders to ensure they do their work properly. That is what you will do.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the stove. “And as I said, you will be in charge of the tea. Its unfortunate that neither the maid nor the cook can do it right.”

Belle took off her coat and draped it on a chair. She filled the kettle, placed it on the burner, and then turned it on.

“When it is ready, bring it down the hall to the second room on the left.” Mr. Gold instructed and before he ambled out of the room, he called over his shoulder, “There is a tea service in the cabinet and the tea is in a canister by the stove.”

Belle prolonged taking the tea in for as long as she could. Her hands and arms were tremoring as she carried a tray bearing a teapot and tea cup, cream, sugar, and a few cookies that she found in a cookie jar. She didn’t know what awaited her in that room down the hall. _What will he do to me?_ A man of his power could force her to do anything. He could expect her to pay off her father’s debt on her back. She prayed that she would not have to share his bed. Sex was disgusting. Mr. Gold was a vast deal smaller than Gaston, but he had been able to use his cane as a weapon.

Balancing the tray on her hip, she knocked, and entered when he beckoned. She let out a gasp when she surveyed the room. Shelves adorned the walls…shelves full of books! She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes. Never before had she seen so many beautiful books! It put her little library at home to shame.

Belle set the tray on the desk and let her gaze sweep the room, committing all of the beloved books to memory. “You have books?” She exclaimed.

“Yes,” Mr. Gold’s response made her jump and she retreated a couple of paces. She had been so overwhelmed by all of the books that she had not noticed him sitting behind the desk. He sat back in his chair, smirking. “I am allowed to have books, I am a Statesman.” Raising his finger, he shook it at her, “I had better not catch you reading any of these.”

Belle hugged herself. “I- I can’t read, Mr. Gold.”

No one had ever confronted her about reading or books. Her father and Gaston viewed her as a woman, too simple to know how to read. Her protest sounded pathetically false to her ears. She could only pray that he would not suspect anything. That he would chalk it up to nerves. The presence of the books had a mesmerizing effect on her, one that could lead her into trouble. She had to appear indifferent to the books, otherwise he might suspect the truth.

“Of course not.” His eyes dropped to the tea pot expectantly. “A little milk and two sugars.”

Belle picked up the tea pot and filled his cup. She added a little milk and dropped in two sugar cubes. She was about to present it to him when he stated, “Oh, and amongst other your other responsibilities, you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts.”

She flinched and losing her hold on the cup, it fell to the floor.

“That was a quip. Not serious.” Mr. Gold snickered at first, but his smile soon waned.

Belle dropped to her knees and picked up the cup. The rim was cracked, but the remainder was intact. The little white and blue cup still looked pretty in its own modest way. The tea, unfortunately, had soaked into the rug. If she had an accident like that at her father’s house, she would have ended up with a busted lip. God only knows what this Statesman would do to her.

Mr. Gold leaned over and peered at her.

Belle sheepishly held it up, showing its little crack. “Its chipped. You can hardly see it.” She bit down on her lip, to stop herself from saying anything more.

“Its just a cup.” He shrugged, nonplussed. “There are others back in the kitchen. Go get another. And you forgot to bring one for yourself. How can you expect to drink tea without a cup?” He stood, leaned over and snatched the broken cup out of her hands. “Go on, I’ll get rid of this one.”

Belle nodded and hurried out of the room.

#

Belle scooted lower in the soft mattress and drew the covers over her head, frustrated that she couldn’t quiet her thoughts.

She and Mr. Gold drank tea and he went over her duties with her. Other than being obsessive about his preferences and his routine, he didn’t harm or berate her. He had invited her to have tea with him in a backhanded sort of way, and informed her it would be a daily occurrence, but he hadn’t given her any reason to fear him. Even so, when he gave her a tour of the house and showed her where her room was, fear seized her.

Her room was directly across from his.

After she turned in, Belle heard Mr. Gold shuffle through the hall and she waited for him to barge into her room and claim what was his. But he never did. He shuffled into his room and she heard him close the door. Then nothing.

That was not what continued to keep her awake though.

There was a whole room of books downstairs. They seemed to be chanting her name in a hushed whisper, tempting her to come down and join them. If she did and Mr. Gold or one of the other servants caught her, she would be facing death. However, books had a hold on her soul. They were her true love and she was willing to die for them if necessary.

Belle groaned and through back the covers. _I can’t help it!_ She was still wearing her clothes, having simply crawled into bed fully dressed. Having left home with only the clothes on her back, she didn’t have any nightgowns to change into. The only thing she had taken off was her boots. Rather than slip them back on, she tiptoed out of her room and down the hall in her stocking feet.

She groped her way down the stairs, determined to find her way back to that room despite the dark. Turning on a light would be foolish.

Belle reached the room and gently shut the door. Holding her breath, this time she flicked on a light. She sighed happily at the sight of all those books. Rushing to the shelves, without looking, she grabbed the volume closest and possessively pressed it to her stomach. Turning around, a slip of white paper on the desk caught her eye.

She picked it up and a breath caught in her throat as she read it.

_“Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings.”_

Belle laid it back down and turned off the light. She crept out of the room and went back upstairs to her bedroom before anyone heard her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://bookwormchocaholic.tumblr.com/post/174374204284/burning-bright-chapter-3


End file.
